


Tell Me What Does It Mean, Fourteen

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: The Big Bang Theory (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 01:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1800448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s fourteen, anyway?” Amy asks when she is sure their scene can continue uninterrupted by well-meaning besties.</p><p>(Missing scene for 6x23, "The Love Spell Potential.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me What Does It Mean, Fourteen

**Author's Note:**

> TBBT characters belong to the plot bunnies. I was midway through one fic and this one bit me so hard I had to drop everything and write it.
> 
> Thanks to Queerly for the beta. Apologies to Vixy and Tony for the title inspiration.
> 
> * * *

Amy’s perched nervously on the edge of Sheldon’s bed as he explains how he feels that what they have is really intimate and, as sardonic as her response is, his words set off a little flutter inside her anyway.

Then he offers to finish playing out the scene with her, and the flutter grows, as if one butterfly has been joined by a couple of friends.

At first the dice rolling is intrusive, especially since she has no idea what the numbers on the dice are corresponding to – some table in his head, maybe? But he keeps looking at her so steadily as he narrates his side of their liaison. She’s the one who keeps blushing and lowering her eyes.

“Amy.” His voice is low, compelling. “You’re squirming. Are you all right?”

“I...” She swallows hard. “Just a little warm.”

“You could remove your cardigan.”

She makes herself meet his eyes, because she will not be honest with him if she’s looking at the carpet, and she prides herself on her honesty. “It’s not just a body temperature warmth, Sheldon.”

He nods. “I’m aware. I’m also aware it’s not an alien parasite.”

“Do you – is it a problem?”

“It’s distracting you from our as yet incomplete game. The logical course of action is for you to alleviate the tension so that we can continue.”

“Oh.”

Sheldon lets out one of his fussy little sighs, reaches over, and pops open the top button of her cardigan. Amy’s hands seem to be riveted to her knees. Sheldon unbuttons her cardigan the rest of the way and pushes it back off her shoulders. The back of his hand barely grazes her breast on the way.

It makes her feel as if she’s falling.

“You’ll need to move your arms if you really want this off,” he says.

“Oh,” Amy says again, and lifts her arms, and strips the cardigan off one sleeve at a time. She has enough presence of mind to fold it and put it on Sheldon’s pillow rather than dropping it to the floor.

“It’s your turn,” Sheldon says, and Amy thinks, _Didn’t I just take my turn?_ before realizing what he means.

“I, uh, run my hands over your chest; if I spread my fingers out I can span the width of your chest without trying too hard.” Her fingers twitch and she clasps her hands in her lap.

“If you were all orc you’d be able to snap me like a twig,” Sheldon agrees. The dice rattles across the book again. “I mirror your caress, lifting and stroking your breasts... fascinated by their size, so unlike elven breasts.”

“I lean into your touch, both embarrassed and pleased by your look of awe.”

Sheldon rolls again and gives her a sly look. “It seems that exploring your breasts with my hands alone is insufficient. I suck your nipple into my mouth, teasing the peak with my tongue.”

Amy can’t breathe. She’s no longer totally convinced that this is merely the luck of the dice at play. One hand lifts to touch the top button of her blouse. She stops before opening it, and once again Sheldon takes care of it for her. His fingers are quick; he has three buttons open and the collar spread wide almost before she can get her hand out of the way.

He just looks at her, then, and she feels like she can see what he’s thinking. Her butterflies are multiplying exponentially as she says, “I moan your name and run my fingers through your hair. It’s so fine, not like my dirty monster hair.”

“Your hair isn’t monster hair,” Sheldon says. In or out of character? Amy’s not sure. “I straighten up and pull you into my arms, pressing close against your body, kissing you again.”

“You got that from _one_ dice roll?” Amy can’t help but ask.

Sheldon touches her lips with his finger. “Don’t question the dungeon master.”

Amy squeaks. She can’t help that either.

“You still look flushed,” Sheldon says, and his finger drags down from her lips, down the line of her throat, to hook under the next closed blouse button. “Maybe you should–”

“ _Yes_ ,” Amy says, and then she’s afraid she sounds too eager, but Sheldon doesn’t shy away from unbuttoning her blouse all the way, looking solemnly right into her eyes the whole time. He pushes the sides back from her breasts and then just looks at her, watching her as she lifts her hands to the front clasp of her bra.

She feels ridiculous for ever scoffing at his notions of intimacy.

He doesn’t touch her; he leaves that up to her. She’s no stranger to her own body and rolls her palms over her nipples, which are hard already, just from _listening_ to him, dear God.

“You chose our secluded liaison glade well. There’s a drift of leaves that looks comfortable, and also  devoid of bugs,” she adds, seeing the look on his face. “I pull back out of your arms, but only to lower myself to the ground and pat the spot beside me invitingly.”

Sheldon rolls the dice twice. “I join you in your leafy bower, which I am _assured_ is insect-free, and run my fingers through your hair before starting to kiss you all over.”

Amy’s hands pause. “Go on.”

“I work my way down your body, letting my hands lead the way, chasing them with my mouth.” His tongue darts out, wetting his lips. “I can sense how aroused you are, but I still want to take my time with you.”

“I arch up into your touch, wriggling a little when you hit a ticklish spot.” She sketches out the relevant areas on her actual body, watches him filing the information for (dear God she prays) future use. “I run my hands over your shoulders and back, feeling your delicate but dexterous muscles flexing.”

“I work my way further down, until I’m playfully nibbling at...” He shakes the dice in his palm, giving her an undeniably mischievous smile.

 

Then Penny almost ruins everything.

 

“What’s fourteen, anyway?” Amy asks when she is sure their scene can continue uninterrupted by well-meaning besties.

Sheldon reaches over and tugs down the tiny zipper at the hip of her skirt. “Inner thigh.”

“Oh my.” Amy pushes the skirt down and wriggles it right off, thanking past Amy for wearing stockings instead of pantyhose. “It’s lucky I’m lying down, then, because otherwise I think I’d fall over.”

The dice bounces off the book onto the floor, despite Sheldon’s meticulously aimed rolling. He drops down to one knee to retrieve it and pauses there a moment, looking up at her. Amy thinks: _if this were real, if it were real, he’d only need to move a few inches to…_

“Breathe, Amy,” he says, straightening up.

Oh. Yes. That.

Then he sits back down on the bed, places the palm of one hand against her bare stomach, and silently urges her to _actually_ lie down. Her blouse is hanging open, so is her bra, she’s _very_ aware of the state of her underwear (at least she wore something nice for Vegas), and he’s still managing to turn her on even further with every touch, tiny as they may be.

When she’s down he pushes the book aside and settles the dice on her flat stomach, rolling it back and forth with a fingertip, but paying little or no heed to the numbers that appear.

“I continue to torment the delicate skin of your inner thighs with my teeth and lips, working my way inward to where I can sense you most crave my touch.” He sounds almost uncertain up until the point where Amy abandons any attempt to hold back and all but shoves her hand into her underwear.

The only thing she can manage to say on her turn is a drawn-out whimper as she touches herself and realizes just exactly how much he has affected her. It’s his voice, and his eyes, and his words, and his proximity, and even if the only physical contact he’s making with her is rolling the dice on her stomach, it’s still so… well. There’s a reason she can’t make words.

“In response to your vocal and physical plea for more, I trail my tongue over your skin, in order to seek out where you are most sensitive.”

Amy curves her fingers against herself and manages some sort of encouraging vocalization.

“I…” For the first time, his voice cracks a little. Amy realizes she’s closed her eyes and opens them to see him looking down at her, _really_ looking, like maybe it’s just occurred to him that he’s allowed to. “I can’t resist your evident need. I push a finger inside you and lick you hard… getting a little lost in how clearly you’re enjoying yourself…”

“Sheldon…”

She is not quite sure whether she said his name out loud or just in her head.

His hand moves from her stomach. Moves down. Covers her hand, on the outside of her underwear. His fingers curve against hers. Move with hers. He doesn’t touch her beyond that.

He doesn’t need to.

 

A few minutes later, Amy is still dazed. Sheldon has considerately relocated his pillow to under her head. His hand is on her thigh, his thumb and index finger on her skin, his other three fingers on the gossamer fabric of her stocking. He’s looking down at her with a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth; whatever his personal thoughts on coitus might be, it seems that this in-between step is perhaps not as repellent as he might have thought.

The dice is sitting in her navel.

“I think that’s the end of the spell’s effective duration,” Sheldon says. His tone is almost back to normal, from his lower erotic roleplaying tone.

(She bets he doesn’t use it around the boys.)

“Mmmm.” Amy avails herself of his tissues to wipe her fingers clean, and sets about putting her clothes right. “But maybe… it could be cast again?”

For once he doesn’t miss the point, or do his deliberately obtuse thing.

“I wouldn’t rule it out.”

Amy can feel herself smiling. Grinning like an idiot, actually. “Then you’ll need this back.” She hands him the dice, expecting him to put it back in the bag with the others.

Instead, he leans over her to the nightstand and sets it in the drawer, nestled against his sleep mask.

“I think I’ll keep that one separately from now on.”

“For good luck?”

He just smiles at her.

She can see a lot of possibilities in that smile.

 


End file.
